


Suck it up, Cheerleader

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Bondage, F/F, Kidnapping, Lactation Kink, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Milking, Nipple Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped by batarian milkers, Miranda isn't expecting a rescue. How much can she take? And how's she going to get out of this? Not for the faint-hearted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RunnerFive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunnerFive/gifts).



> A fill for the kink meme:  
> http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/9115.html?thread=43931547#t43931547

“Ah!” winced Miranda. “That stings! Be careful, Jack!” Miranda's skin burned all over, a throbbing heat that she couldn't ignore.

“Aw, suck it up, cheerleader,” replied Jack. “I've still got your whole front to do.” Jack's hands nevertheless touched her more lightly, gently massaging the suncream into her skin. “How the hell did you manage to get burned on both sides, anyway?”

“I don't know,” Miranda said in a small voice. When she reached up to take one of Jack's greasy hands, the skin on her arm, shoulder and chest felt like it would crack open. “Jack. I love you,” she said.

“Don't get all mushy on me, princess,” Jack replied. “You _know_ it turns me on.” Jack released Miranda's hand and laid it carefully down by her side. “Turn over and I'll do your front,” she said.

Miranda levered herself over, waves of heat and pain radiating from her skin. Her legs weren't so bad but her front ached even worse than her back. She didn't want to look down. It hurt so bad she was expecting to see blisters and pus. Tears collected at the corners of her eyes. “Jack. Please. Please, don't.”

“Aw, come on, Miranda, I'll be really gentle,” said Jack, dropping her tough guy act for a moment. “You'll feel better.” Jack started to rub gently at her collarbone, working her way down a centimeter at a time.

“Uh!” Miranda cried out. Then she took a deep breath and let it shudder out of her. When her salt tears dripped from her reddened cheeks onto her breasts, they burned like acid. She clenched her teeth against the pain.

Jack continued to rub lower and lower, her touch ever more delicate as she started on the soft flesh of Miranda's breasts. Miranda would be loving this at any other time, normally Jack handled her roughly and carelessly. But even the lightest touch was exquisite torture right now. “Shit, your tits took the worst of it,” said Jack. “You know, if you weren't hurting so bad I'd be pissed at you. What were you thinking?”

Miranda spoke through gritted teeth. “I must have fallen asleep,” she managed. “It was so nice here. With you.”

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river. OK, you ready?” asked Jack. “I'm gonna have to do your nips.”

“No, Jack, please, no...” blubbered Miranda.

“Sorry, princess,” said Jack as she spread a blob of cream on each of Miranda's nipples. Fire erupted from them to engulf her consciousness.

She woke up screaming. “Jack, no!”

\-----------------------------

Miranda slumped back onto her cot, forgetting for a moment that sudden moves led to waves of throbbing pain that coursed out from her oversized breasts, to knot up her stomach and make her head spin. She took a few deep breaths to counteract the nausea, then began the mental accounting that allowed her to lock down the pain, compartmentalise it, and at least pretend to function.

Start with the best. Her toes. Her toes felt absolutely fine. Nothing wrong there. From her toes to her knees, in fact, there was no problem. Moving up, she acknowledged the fire in her groin, but refused to let it derail her thoughts. She soaked herself every night, now, whether her dreams involved Jack or not. But she could deal with that. Her stomach was tender and given to spasming uncontrollably, but right now it was stable. She could manage. Starting just above her belly, an itch grew rapidly to an insistent burning, centered around her tender, sensitive breasts, stiff, swollen and painfully lumpy. 

The clothing she wore provided nothing in the way of support, and one breast or the other was always at the mercy of gravity, it being impossible to balance two melons that size on a woman of her dimensions. Her shoulders, cramped, her neck, stretched with the effort of accommodating the unnatural positions her new breasts demanded. Surprisingly, her head was clear, the headache that had drained her will for the last several days having receded. Maybe dreaming about Jack had helped with that.

Miranda levered herself up from the cot slowly to a sitting position, letting her body rearrange itself slowly enough to avoid the worst of the pain. Her back ached, but less than yesterday. She closed her eyes and listened to her heart beat for a moment, let herself feel the worst of the throbbing ache that pulsed through her tits and squirming pressure beneath their surface.

Right. If that was as bad as it got, she could handle this level of discomfort indefinitely. It was no worse that yesterday, as far as she could tell. Maybe even a little improved.

She started performing her stretches. Vigorous exercise was out of the question, but she could do a little limited muscle work. She tensed various muscle groups, rolled and stretched her neck, did resistance moves against the wall of her cell. A fine sweat covered her by the end. She ran a hand through her hair. It had been cropped close to her head. She smiled to herself. Jack had once threatened to do that to her while she slept.

But she was no Samson. Miranda's strength came from within. These sick bastards would never break her.

On cue, they came for her.

The two burly batarians slammed open the door to her cell and pushed the wheelchair in.

“Sit,” one of them commanded. Miranda didn't know his name, but had mentally christened him Junior. He was big and dumb and she'd only seen him doing menial tasks.

“Are you going to be any trouble today, human?” asked the other, wielding his stun baton. Miranda had tried to take that away from him early on in their relationship, and had nearly managed to before Junior punched her in the nose.

She had watched from the floor, dazed, as he had driven his baton into Junior's side and given him a jolt. “Don't damage the merchandise, idiot! She's worth a lot of money!” She called him Happy, for trigger happy. The weapon and his ego were intimately involved, in her opinion.

Back then she had thought they were just slavers. That was before... she didn't want to think about it. If she took it a minute at a time, she could cope with anything, she knew. But anticipation led to dread, which led to despair. She wasn't ready to give up.

She sat down in the chair gingerly. They flipped the manacles shut over her wrists and ankles. Even though she was feeling better, she was in no condition for sudden moves, her free-swinging breasts aching with pressure. She'd long ago ceased to be embarrassed by the continuous free flow of clear fluid from her constantly swollen lips as well, something her crotchless trousers meant she couldn't hide. It did mean the seat was rather sticky, however. Wet, in fact, today. They must have already taken Kelly in for her morning session. 

Kelly had starting letting down milk almost a week ago. Miranda had watched as Kelly shuddered in what could be mistaken for ecstasy as the pressure in her swollen breasts was relieved by the milking machine, even though she knew the pain of the needles and the tubes and the relentless suction. Kelly released a full pint before they stopped. The batarian who supervised the machines ('Brains') had seemed satisfied.

But today they didn't take her to the room with the machines. Miranda watched as they wheeled her down a corridor she hadn't seen before, soaking in every detail, every power conduit and locked door. She updated her mental map of the facility. This corridor ran parallel to the one she knew. They might now be in the room that backed on to the milking suite.

On the other side of the one-way glass. They parked her in front of the glass, but not so close that she could reach it if she leaned forwards. She'd figured they were under observation but she would have counted on more advanced surveillance. Maybe that was a good thing.

Miranda could see Kelly in the middle of her milking. Strapped against the padded bench, she was utterly helpless. Her legs spread apart, her arms fixed out to the sides, she was exposed and vulnerable. As Miranda knew from her own experience, the dildo that penetrated Kelly thrummed and pulsed in time to the peristaltic sleeves that encased her breasts and kneaded them automatically to encourage the flow. 

The suction cups attached to the exposed aureolae drew Kelly's engorged nipples deep within them. Miranda felt her own nipples twitch at the memory of the needles going in, the circle of them grasping at the base of the nipple like the claw in the fairground game, electric shocks stimulating contractions and causing milk to squirt out in uncontrollable spurts to be sucked away by the hoses.

Miranda hadn't produced any milk yet, but she'd felt the same needles go in, and the shocks. She'd gritted her teeth and refused to scream. Kelly had whimpered and moaned and begged and pleaded until Miranda had told her to hold it in. Miranda was pleased to see that even though she wasn't there to provide support, Kelly suffered in silence. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound other than low whimpering.

Miranda realised she could hear everything that was going on in the other room. “Be strong, Kelly!” she shouted, on the off-chance that Kelly could hear her. She doubted it, figuring it was more likely that the sound was being relayed through a speaker.

As she watched, the receptacle of milk by Kelly's station grew fuller, and her face grew redder. She was trying to fight it, but the batarians hadn't ever let either of them off the milking stations until they'd been brought to orgasm by the forceful stimulation of the dildo. Miranda had thought that Brains had been instructed not to talk to them, but she had heard him muttering under his breath once as he watched Kelly shiver and moan, coming hard around the dildo. “Better flavor, my scaly ass,” he'd said.

That suggested to Miranda that someone was drinking their milk. His suspicion that orgasms did nothing for the taste made her think that it wasn't him. They were being milked for someone higher up. Knowing batarians, it was probably being sold to the highest bidder. There was an element of comfort in that. They were valuable, and wouldn't be discarded as long as they were productive. So there was no immediate danger.

On the other hand, there was no obvious escape to be had. Nobody knew where she and Kelly were, they had been off the grid, on the run from Cerberus, changing their identities and never sleeping under the same roof twice, out in the Terminus systems.

That the batarians had found them, and had known exactly how to take her down (sheer numbers, and horse tranquilizers) made her suspect that she had been betrayed. No doubt the Illusive Man had circulated her file as revenge. She would see that he got what he deserved when she got out of this. 

Kelly came through gritted teeth and Brains looked satisfied. Miranda watched intently for details. She hadn't seen the room from this angle before. Maybe there would be something she could use. Brains unhooked the milk receptacle, sealed it and racked it in a refrigerator. First of the day. There was space for at least a dozen of them in there. Kelly was filling three a day, and her production had been steadily increasing.

Happy was still with in the room with her, his stun baton at the ready, but Junior had disappeared. Miranda now saw him entering the milking suite pushing a chair like her own. An unconscious bald woman lolled in it, manacled.

“Oh, no!” cried Miranda. “No! You bastards!” Tears came to her eyes and she struggled against her manacles, shaking her body, oblivious to the pain. “You fucking animal bastards!” she sobbed.

Happy sniggered behind her as Junior and Brains strapped Jack into a milking stand.


	2. Chapter 2

Miranda had first regained consciousness strapped into a milking station, to the sound of Kelly sobbing and screaming in pain and frustration. Head fuzzy, breasts on fire, it had taken her some time to attract Kelly's attention. The relief on her face was a heavy burden to shoulder, but one that she was prepared to carry. They had already been there three days, and Miranda had been unconscious for all of it. Kelly had been awake and terrified as they strapped her into the milking station for the first time, to face on her own the horror of the suction cups with their needle-claws, the violation by the dildo and an unrelenting series of painful injections administered by a rough, silent batarian.

Miranda had tried to activate her biotics, then, and repeatedly as her ordeal continued, but could summon no more than a ghostly, useless firefly. They had done something to her while she was out. Her abilities were blocked, somehow. She had to fight down panic to remain calm in front of Kelly.

Now, before each of her sessions, they positioned her to watch them manhandling Jack, strapping her thin limbs down, hooking up the suction cups and the tight pumping sleeve that forced her small breasts into stiff peaks. She saw Brains filling large syringes, which he emptied into Jack's veins.

All of this must have happened to her, too, although thankfully she had been unconscious. To see it happening to Jack was more that she could bear. She cried so much her tears dried up. In a perverse way, it made it easier to deal with her own painfully sore breasts, she had something else to focus on. 

She watched as Brains poked a feeding tube down Jack's throat, strapping it in place over her mouth. He unloaded a bag of brown mush into her stomach each time. Before guiding the dildo into her hole, he would feed a catheter into her, and position an enema tube in her rear end.

It hadn't occurred to Miranda to wonder, before, what had been done about her basic needs while she had been unconscious. Now she knew. She felt the burning need to pee, watching what was happening to Jack. It looked distinctly uncomfortable. Thank god Jack wasn't awake to feel it.

They made her watch all of Jack's conditioning from behind the glass, just before her own sessions. By the third day, she had started to see the difference in Jack's breasts, the extra fullness and more pronounced veins. Then they would wheel Jack out before bringing Miranda in. She gave up shouting and screaming from behind the glass, it was clear that she couldn't be heard. And Happy threatened to poke her with his stick if she carried on. Meanwhile her own ordeal continued, the pressure in her breasts growing even greater, her nights ravaged by torrid dreams that left her bedding sticky.

She had no idea what purpose keeping them so horny served, or how they did it. It was damned annoying.

She wasn't there to be with Jack when she woke up. Not the first time, anyway, when she would have come to groggily on a cot in a small windowless cell, undecorated except for a steel toilet. Miranda could imagine just how it must have been, just how many 'fucks' and 'shits' Jack must have let fly, how she would have hammered at the door, raised hell. Jack wouldn't have taken in the details straight away, freedom was always her first and foremost concern.

When she finally tired, she would sit back on her cot and take stock, realising that she was wearing a good deal more clothing than she was used to. The one piece garment covered their legs and arms, their backs and sides, but had gaping openings to allow access to breasts, crotch and rear. There was no way to take it off. 

Jack would have been confused, and would have found her breasts tender and swollen, although not excruciatingly painful as they would become after further treatment. She might have dipped a finger in her own pussy, smelled her own finger to check her own state of arousal. Then she would probably lick it. Miranda had caught her doing that once and had been suitably disgusted, although her indifference to social niceties was one of the main reasons that she found Jack so alluring.

Then, when they came for her, she would have fought and screamed, bitten and scratched, but without her biotics and without weapons, Jack was not such a formidable foe. She could imagine her summoning her biotics, activating that reflex that came so naturally to her. And nothing would happen. 

Then panic would take her, and Happy would stun her, and Junior hold her still while they strapped her into a wheelchair. Then they would bring her here, where Miranda was watching, unseen, and transfer her to the milking station, where her real ordeal would begin.

Miranda forced herself to imagine all of it. When she got out of here, whoever was in charge of this operation would submit to a detailed, lengthy accounting for every outrage. She nurtured her anger and drew strength from it.

But nothing had prepared her for the defeat in Jack's eyes as she was brought in and meekly allowed Junior to strap her into the milking station. Miranda watched her look around the room, not sure what was happening, and saw her start to hyperventilate as she lost it to a full blown panic attack. Brains was unperturbed, finding it easy enough to hookup the attachments with Jack's body immobilized.

Jack emitted a high, girlish wail and tears flooded from her eyes as she started to understand. As Brains activated the dildo, she pissed herself all over it. He muttered with disgust, stepping clear, reaching over to activate the suction and the wicked claws. Jack's wails turned into screams and she begged unashamedly for it to stop.

Miranda had seen Jack's softer side. But she'd never seen her broken. It tore her apart. Her chest heaved with despair. There was nothing she could do from this side of the glass. Brains, whether for pragmatic or vindictive reasons, threaded the catheter into Jack's urethra, causing her to catch her breath and turn red. She finally found her anger and screamed out a stream of filthy imprecations.

He gagged her with a band that had a thick plug attached that pushed out her cheeks. Then as an afterthought he lubed the enema tube and slid it into her. Only her eyes betrayed her, speaking of rage and impotence and grief. Miranda hoped that gaze was never turned on her. She would rather die.

Miranda's milk came in the next day. She screamed in agony as the first trickle oozed out of her left breast, it felt like her nipple was being torn apart from within. The circle of fine needles dug into her, stimulating her electrically and the ooze turned into a spurt. She was amazed that they weren't ripping her nipple right out. It would almost have been a relief.

Miranda hung her head in shame as the inevitable flow became established and the pain lessened marginally. Each enthusiastic spurt of milk felt like betrayal. She had held out for as long as she could but now she was being milked like a fucking cow. And worst of all, Jack would soon be in the same predicament. Miranda wept at the thought. 

Jack's prickly persona was a fragile veneer concealing an emotional, vulnerable woman. She'd been abused so much, before, and she and Miranda had only just worked out a way to be together when they'd been forced apart by circumstance. There was no reason that Jack should be here, unless she had been looking for her.

The right breast gave up its resistance shortly afterwards. The weight she had carried on her shoulders lessened as her breasts were drained of their charge, the debilitating pressure and excruciating pain of her swollen, blocked glands diminished.

With the relief came an endorphin high that flooded her lower body with warmth. She squirmed in her bondage, but the bands holding her thighs, ankles and wrists were unbreakable. The insistent thrust and pulse of the dildo were inescapable. And she had just been thinking about Jack.

Miranda came before her milking was half over, her eyes fluttering and her lips drawn back in a rictus around clenched teeth, trying to remain quiet. Jack was here. They would be together again. Those batarian bastards had no idea what they were in for.

Her positive mood quickly evaporated under the relentless pumping and probing of the milking machine. Brains came over to inspect her collection jar. “Oh yeah,” he said to himself. “Now we're getting somewhere.”

Instead of taking her back to her cell, at the end of her last session that day they took both her and Kelly to a larger room, one with two cots. From the state of one of them, it looked like Kelly had been here for some time. Miranda didn't care why the change had happened. Kelly was her responsibility and she jumped at the chance to finally comfort her.

She put her arms carefully around Kelly's shoulders, trying but failing to keep their breasts from touching. They mashed together in a warm, sticky mass between them as they both gave up, their need for comfort outweighing the pain and the shame they both felt at the intimate contact. Miranda felt her nipples stiffen and her groin ache despite herself. She hadn't had any physical contact for weeks, either. She put a hand at the back of Kelly's head and guided it into her shoulder, holding her until the inevitable bout of weeping came.

“There, there,” was all she could manage. Offering Kelly false hope would be cruel, right now. And she didn't have much of her own, false or otherwise, to spare.

And now, even as she tried to comfort Kelly, she could only think of Jack, who was suffering through this alone.

Kelly cried into her shoulder for a long while, but eventually composed herself. While they had talked as much as they could during their pumping and milking sessions, conversation had been understandably fraught, given the treatment they were both undergoing.

“Thank you, Miranda,” sniffed Kelly, her eyes red. “I... I know I'd have given up by now without you.”

Miranda patted her on the back. “Nobody's giving up, Kelly,” she said. She needed to get her mind off Jack. She couldn't do anything for her right now. “Let's tell each other everything we know. Maybe we'll figure something out.”

They sat down on Kelly's cot. Miranda drew her knees up out of habit, so as not to let her naked, constantly stimulated sex touch anything. Kelly tucked one foot under her knee to achieve the same effect. Miranda had a sudden vision of Kelly, rapping with her college friends in a dorm room, adopting the same pose while she held court. There was still some defiance in her, her body language didn't yet speak of complete defeat.

“We were in a cab on Ilium,” Miranda began.

“I remember feeling scared,” Kelly said, scooting over to lean against Miranda's shoulder, their backs to the wall. “But then, I felt like that a lot. We'd been running for weeks.”

People went to Ilium to get lost. It was so big, nobody could keep track of it all. And there were any number of specialists who could help, identity hackers, security outfits. They'd gone there to see one of Miranda's old contacts, someone from before her Cerberus times, someone she trusted.

But it had been an ambush. “They were waiting for us,” Miranda said. “They knew we were coming.”

“The Illusive Man?” asked Kelly.

“Probably,” replied Miranda. “I expected him to hunt us, but not to sell us out. The fact that they knew about my old contact... It means they wanted us specifically, doesn't it?”

“Us? Or you?” asked Kelly, sadly, snuggling further into Miranda's side.

“I'm sorry, Kelly. I should have put you in a safe house somewhere,” Miranda said, sorrowfully.

“You'll get us out of this, Miranda,” said Kelly. “I trust you.”

“But you're right. They were probably after me. Why?”

“Why do you think they're doing _this_ to us?” asked Kelly, indicating her engorged breasts. “Did you upset someone in particular? In a particular way? Is there a message?”

“I can't imagine,” said Miranda. “I've put down a lot of people, but I never went out of my way to humiliate anybody. They might want revenge, but this is just sick.” She paused. “I think they're selling it,” she continued, recalling the hints their captors had let slip. “We're valuable. Someone's drinking the milk. And they're paying a lot for it.”

“I'm...” Kelly began. “I'm almost glad it's not being wasted. I know I shouldn't feel that way... but somehow... if it was just being poured down the drain... I'd feel worse.”

“I understand, Kelly,” said Miranda. “But it's a long way from there to liking it. Don't worry.” She put an arm around her and drew her in. Their heavy breasts touched again.

“You know, I'm sure you can get human milk from a lot of places,” said Kelly from the comforting circle of Miranda's arm. “People will sell anything. What's special about yours? Are you a celebrity?”

“Oh, bugger me sideways,” said Miranda, her resignation palpable. “I think you've got it, Kelly. I mean, I'm not well known outside certain circles. Intelligence. Back-room diplomats. Corporate agents. Mostly not nice people.”

“So... bad, rich people, then?” suggested Kelly. “It's about exclusivity. Provenance. It's _artisanal_ ,” she spat.

Miranda was pleased to see Kelly's anger. It was a positive sign. She hugged her closer and rubbed her head idly. Her orange hair had also been cropped short. “But...” started Miranda, the unpleasant conclusion jumping out at her. She fell silent. 

Miranda decided not to tell Kelly what had occurred to her. The kind of people she was thinking of were amoral, fickle and faddish. Their survival hinged on their popularity among a clientèle not known for brand loyalty. They would live only as long as the batarians could sell their product. Their time was limited. And now Jack's life was on the line too.

“Let's get some sleep,” said Miranda. Now that her milk was flowing and the pain had lessened, sleep might come more easily. And she wanted to be well rested. She had to think clearly. She had to figure out a way out of here. Jack and Kelly were relying on her.

Kelly didn't want to let go of her. “Will you hold me?” she asked. “While I fall asleep?” 

Miranda couldn't refuse. They lay down side by side and sleep took them.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was trying to kill herself. Miranda could see it in her eyes. 

She had seen the old installation on Pragia, what they had done to the children there. She'd watched Jack come to terms with the fact that they had experimented on and killed other children in an effort to enhance her biotic capabilities. It was then that Miranda had first seen beyond her selfish, foul-mouthed, criminal exterior to a kind of nobility. Jack felt guilty despite the fact that she was blameless. As she dealt with that guilt, and channelled her energies into the mission, Miranda had grown to admire her more than professionally.

She'd been amazed to discover that the feeling was mutual.

Miranda could well imagine that Jack would rather die than go through another Pragia. She watched as Jack tried to provoke her captors with insults about their parentage. They laughed at her. She tried slamming her head against the milking station. They strapped it down. She tried to make herself choke on her own spit. They forced a breathing tube down her throat. 

Miranda couldn't bear to watch. She was aware of an acrid smell in the room behind the glass. Someone was smoking a cigarette. She looked over her shoulder.

“We only picked her up because of you, you know,” said the batarian. Not one that she'd seen before. He carried himself with an air of louche authority. _Hello_ , thought Miranda. _I'll call you 'Smokey'._

Smokey stepped forward so that she didn't have to crane over her shoulder to see him. “I mean, she was looking for you,” he added. “But she wouldn't have found you.” He leant back against the glass to face Miranda. “No, we thought you needed a little extra motivation.”

Miranda flushed with anger, but got it under control. He was the first one who had said more than three words to her. If she could keep him talking, he might let something slip. “Why don't you let her go, then? You've got what you want from me,” she said, letting her gaze drop for a moment to her engorged breasts. She was trying to project shame and defeat.

He laughed and sucked on his cigarette. “Oh, I'm sure we can use her, too. She's not too eager though, is she?”

“She'll die first,” Miranda said, pretending to be on the verge of a breakdown, and realising that she wasn't really pretending.

“Looks that way,” replied Smokey. He was content to puff on his cigarette for a few moments. “Looks that way,” he repeated, nodding once at Miranda and walking off behind her.

“Wait!” she said, twisting in her seat to make eye contact. “I'll do anything. Please. Don't hurt her any more.” And now she couldn't stop the tears from coming. “I'm begging you, please. Anything.”

But Smokey was already out of the door. Happy came back in, twirling his shock baton.

Jack's eyes were fluttering, rolled half way up into her head, like she was having a seizure. The relentless inescapable machinery plugged her every orifice. Miranda forced herself to watch. “Don't die, Jack,” she whispered.

Happy pulled her chair back away from the glass and she shouted as loud as she could. “I love you, Jack! I love you!” Jack probably hadn't heard. She might very well die in there. But Miranda would hate herself if she didn't at least try.

Miranda suffered through her next session. Her production, like Kelly's, was increasing. She had never resented the dildo more, she hated being penetrated, being milked, being tortured. She clenched her fists, grasping at air. More than anything, she hated how she was getting used to it. The dildo forced her to a brittle orgasm, the flush of heat indistinguishable from her anger. She gave no outward sign other than flaring her nostrils.

She hated that she couldn't save Jack.

They took her back to the room she shared with Kelly now. She had to control herself very carefully to avoid doing something stupid. She knew she couldn't take on Happy and Junior at the same time. She would bide her time. One slip. One mistake would be all she needed.

She put an arm around Kelly's shoulders automatically, but her stony expression prohibited any conversation. They sat there in silence, holding each other. Miranda felt her body slowly relaxing as Kelly's warmth seeped into her.

The door to their room opened and Happy came in again to menace them with his stun baton. He took in their entwined limbs and sniggered at them. Junior followed behind him with the wheelchair. Miranda's breath caught as she saw Jack slumped in it, unconscious, her breasts still red and raw from their latest treatment. She sat very still, eyes moving between the stun baton and Jack.

Junior unshackled Jack and tossed her onto the other cot, although not ungently. Miranda filed that away, with relief. Apparently Jack was still valuable too. The batarians backed out and sealed the door behind them. Miranda was up in a flash, not caring if her breasts swung and flopped.

Jack had landed on her front, her head turned towards them. Miranda knelt by the cot and caressed Jack's crown. Her heart was ready to burst. “Jack,” she exhaled. “Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry.” Tears came to her eyes.

Miranda was startled as Jack's eyelids fluttered. Jack coughed and a string of drool escaped from her mouth. “Cheerleader?” she croaked, eyes focussing for a moment. “Nice tits.” Then her eyes closed, her body relaxed visibly and she began to snore.


	4. Chapter 4

Miranda wanted to stay by Jack's side all night if necessary. She wanted to be there for her when she woke up. 

“You need to sleep, Miranda,” advised Kelly. “If anyone's going to get us out of here, you are. We'll take shifts.”

Miranda conceded the point to Kelly. “You wake me when she does, understood? Don't wait a second.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Kelly, beaming at her. A little teamwork was doing wonders for her spirits.

Miranda slept, her dreams a confusion of pursuit and chase, never sure if she was hunter or prey. Jack's face loomed from unlikely corners or distant vistas. Miranda woke up sweating several times, and was reassured to see Kelly still kneeling by Jack's cot, Jack rattling out delicate, ladylike snores. Miranda smiled to herself.

She snapped awake at the sound of Kelly's voice. “Uh, Miranda,” Kelly was saying. “A little help?” She didn't sound terribly worried. She might even have sounded slightly amused. Miranda sat up swiftly. 

“Why can't I make your head explode, Kelly?” Jack asked in a quiet, menacing voice, her hands, glowing faintly blue, on either side of Kelly's face, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Why?” she cried, midway between anger and desperation.

“That's enough, Jack,” said Miranda in a soothing voice, coming over to prise Jack's hands away from Kelly's head.

Jack recoiled as if stung, pulling her hands away. “No!” she shouted. “This shit is your fault. It's always your fault! Cerberus is fucking with me again!”

“Jack, calm down and listen to me...” Miranda pleaded.

Jack shrank away from her as far as she could, curling up against the wall, her fists clenched tightly in front of her. “Why aren't you fighting?” she asked in a low voice. “Why, Miranda? Why didn't you fight them?” she repeated, on the verge of hysteria. Her eyes drifted towards Miranda's pendulous, milk-heavy breasts before snapping back to her face, then away, as if she couldn't stand the sight of her. “Why?” she whispered again.

Miranda stood and crossed her arms over her chest, not so much trying to hide her breasts as to remind Jack of how she used to stand, brazenly aware of her assets and unafraid to use them to her advantage. She needed Jack to remember that she wasn't dealing with some broken dairy cow, but a resourceful operator who was always factoring the odds and tweaking them in her favour.

“Get your shit together, Jack,” said Miranda, favouring Jack with her best icy blue stare. “You trusted me once before. Trust me now. I _will_ get you out of here.”

Jack had her head in her hands and was weeping hot, silent tears. “I can't. I can't do this, Miranda. I can't let them do that to me,” wailed Jack, looking over pointedly at Kelly, who was seated on the other cot, trying to find a way to arrange her heavy breasts so that they would be comfortable, shifting from side to side as her swollen sex brushed inadvertently against the sheets.

Miranda saw what Jack had noticed. Kelly was getting accustomed to her predicament. She would be rationalising, bargaining. If she could produce enough milk, she would be allowed to live. She might be a prisoner, but it could be worse.

It wasn't the physical discomfort that bothered Jack. The situation obviously resonated with her experiences of childhood, when mysterious forces had obliged her to do unpleasant things for unknown ends. And she hadn't known anything but the endless internment, she had been raised alone. Social occasions consisted of fighting other children to the death. It had been a kind of slavery.

“Look at me, Jack,” said Miranda fiercely. “Do I look broken to you? Do I?”

Jack looked back at her, her gaze dropping to her naked chest and crotch. “That's just my body, Jack. That's just pain. Look into my eyes and tell me I'm broken,” Miranda threatened.

Jack looked her in the eyes for a long time. “Cheerleader?” she asked, as if seeing Miranda for the first time.

“I hate it when you call me that,” Miranda said vehemently.

“You better get used to it,” replied Jack. “I'm buying you the outfit just as soon as you get us out of here. Though I don't know if they make them in your cup size.”

Miranda let a smile warm the arctic expression she'd been maintaining.

“Oh, they do,” interjected Kelly. They both turned to look at her. “Um, that is,” she babbled. “I'm sure they do. Probably. Oh, stop looking at me and hug already,” she said, flapping a hand at them dismissively as her face turned red.

Miranda and Jack looked back at each other and cracked up. Miranda stepped forward as Jack rose from the cot and they wrapped their arms around each other.

“I missed you,” said Jack into Miranda's shoulder.

“Hush, Jack,” said Miranda, taking a step back. “Now I need you to tell me everything. How did you end up here?”

Jack looked away, and sat down on the cot again. “I was stupid,” she said bitterly. “When you missed your third check-in, I figured something was wrong. So I went looking. I figured, Omega's a good place to start. I still know people. I started shaking the tree.”

“And what fell out?” asked Miranda.

“Everyone out there was either too dumb to know anything or too smart to talk,” said Jack. “Some of them know who you are, but none of them are dumb enough to take you on. Most of them still think you work for Cerberus, and they don't want that kind of attention. This took a while, you don't just walk up to these kinds of people and buy them a drink, you know.

“So just as I'm about to quit, some turian lowlife comes up to me in the shuttle bay and tells me he's heard I'm looking for you. He spins me a story about how he knows a guy on a crew that's been hired by Cerberus to take you down, real nasty guys. He tells me I can meet this guy; he's been grounded for being too nice or some shit like that, and maybe he can point me in the right direction.”

“A trap?” asked Miranda.

“You bet your ass,” replied Jack. “I go into the bar where we're supposed to meet, and five turian scumbags jump me. I mess them up good, then find my helpful informant and beat some answers out of him.

“He tells me they were hired to take me down, he doesn't know anything else, they're supposed to take me alive and hand me over yadda yadda yadda, the usual bullshit.”

“So what did you do?” Miranda said.

“Well, duh, I went to climb up the foodchain. I show up at the rendezvous with a shotgun and a bag of grenades, but there's nobody there. I poke around for a while, and then the door shuts behind me. Before I can blast it open, the whole place goes clunk. I know that feeling. It turns out I'm in a cargo hold; it looks just like the rest of Omega, with gang signs and shit all over. But now we're out in space and I read vacuum on the other side of the door, and I'm totally fucked. I guess they gassed me pretty quick because then I woke up here.”

Miranda turned this over in her head for a while. “They knew you,” she concluded. “They figured you'd be too smart to fall for the first trap. They let you come to them instead.”

“I must be going soft,” said Jack. “That shit is obvious.”

“Hindsight is 20/20, Jack,” said Kelly. “It wasn't your fault.”

Jack fixed Kelly with a vicious look. Kelly shrank away from her and fell silent. “So, how're we getting out of this?” she asked Miranda.

“I'm working on it, Jack,” she said. “I'll figure something out.”

“And how long is that going to take?” asked Jack, a note of panic in her voice.

Miranda knelt in front of Jack's cot again, and took her hands. “Be strong, my love,” she said, and Jack's cheeks coloured. Miranda had never used those words in anybody else's presence. “It's just pain. It doesn't mean anything. They can't make you like it.”

“But...” Jack began. 

“Just don't fight it,” said Miranda. “I'm begging you. They'll just make it worse. I need you to be strong.”

“Alright, goddamn it!” said Jack, acquiescing in her usual fashion. “I'll do it. You better just hurry it up. Don't be looking for answers if we can just blow shit up and get away, OK?”

“I promise,” said Miranda, sitting down next to Jack on the bunk and putting an arm around her. “I missed you, too.”

Jack slouched into the warmth of Miranda's arm, feeling the heat of her massive side-boob. She glanced self-consciously over at Kelly, who was looking very deliberately away, but who wasn't able to keep the quaver out of her lip or the look of loss from her face.

“Oh, goddamn it, Chambers,” sighed Jack. “Get over here.”

Kelly's face lit up as she rapidly blinked back her tears. “Thank you, Jack,” she said as she joined them, snuggling up to maximise the contact area between her and Jack's scrawny frame.

Sandwiched between two pairs of oversized fun-bags, Jack was subdued. She could barely rouse herself to the accusation: “You guys... you guys are leaking on me, aren't you?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh, _heck_ no! Needles? Ahhhhhhhhhhh... F...F...Fudge!” screamed Kasumi. “Fudging fuuuuuudge!” She drew her tattooed lower lip into her mouth and bit down, but yelps and yips continued to escape from the corners of her mouth as the needles penetrated the base of her nipples and the electrical stimulation began. She tilted her head back, the muscles of her neck standing out to reveal her humming pulse, visible from across the room. Miranda exchanged glances with Jack and Kelly, and saw them realise at the same time. Kasumi wasn't screaming from the pain. She was coming _hard_ , and with some gusto.

\-----------

It had been a long week of keeping it together in front of the troops, and it had taken its toll on Miranda. It didn't help that there were only two cots between the three of them and that Jack refused to sleep next to Kelly. Miranda was no closer to an escape plan. 

And Jack was suffering. Kelly had had a relatively easy time with her transition to full lactation, she hadn't tried to fight it. Nobody would have expected that of her. She was letting down a pint at every session now, and Miranda, despite Kelly's headstart, had obvious natural advantages and was catching up quickly.

But the more Miranda tried to convince Jack just to let it happen, the more stubborn she became. Miranda supposed that Jack didn't want to appear weak in front of her. She'd tried to explain that there was strength in making the smart choices too, but Jack just wasn't built that way. To her, physical submission meant mental submission. 

At least she didn't kick and scream any more, just set her jaw and toughed out one session with the machines after another. She was an exhausted, shivering wreck by the end of each day. Miranda did her best to comfort her, and Kelly pitched in when Jack was too far gone to object. They massaged her blocked and swollen milk glands, bursting with unfulfilled purpose, trying to redistribute the worst of the pressure.

Miranda knew how unbearable this stage was, and remembered how she'd had to suffer through it alone. Watching Kelly's flow begin had only stiffened her resolve to hold out as long as she could. She realised it was hypocritical of her to ask Jack to give in, when she hadn't. She didn't want to tell Jack outright that it was for selfish reasons, that _she'd_ feel so much better if Jack wasn't suffering.

And Miranda also knew, in that cold, calculating part of her that she kept away from polite company, that the pain kept Jack distracted and less likely to press her on the issue of escape. She had nothing. She could see no way out.

They were confined to a small room when not being milked. The cots, the toilet, were the only furnishings. They had no tools but their hands. Their condition made rapid motion difficult. Every day, four times a day, they were taken for their sessions, first Kelly, then Jack, then Miranda, each time watched over by the two batarian guards, Happy and Junior. Neither of them spoke. 

Jack had tried to persuade Miranda that they could take them both, but she knew it was unlikely. She also knew that they wouldn't hesitate to kill Jack if they had to. Smokey had told her as much, that Jack's value was mainly in keeping Miranda compliant. It fell to Miranda to keep Jack in line.

She hadn't told the others about Smokey. She didn't know how Jack would react to the knowledge that she was just a pawn in the game. The Illusive Man might have no further use for Miranda, but he had always expressed an interest in harnessing Jack's capabilities. She wondered if he knew the batarians had also captured her and whether he would make a move to retrieve her. He'd bought her freedom once before and could only be regretting that now.

At any rate, a direct assault was out of the question. She'd thought about making a move as she was transferred from wheelchair to milking station, but the protocol they used was stiff, she never had more than one limb free at a time. 

Their clothing was elastic and clung to their bodies. They couldn't tear it with their hands. The garments weren't even removed for their showers, where they were taken every morning before their first session. They weren't even allowed out of the wheelchair, they were just sprayed down with an antiseptic foam that evaporated, taking the dirt with it.

Happy took particular delight in aiming the jet of foam between Miranda's legs. If he thought a little stimulation would reduce her to a happy, rutting cow, he could think again. Miranda was made of sterner stuff. She'd noticed that Kelly had stopped fighting the insistent violation of the built in dildo at her milking station and was orgasming two or three times each session. She was damned if she would go that way too.

In fact, Kelly had been staring at her reflection in the one-way glass a little bit too much, lately, while she was strapped in and plugged up and spurting milk. Miranda hoped that Kelly wasn't breaking. She'd been so focussed on Jack, she'd just assumed that Kelly could take care of herself now that there didn't seem to be any more surprises in store for them.

Mealtimes provided no opportunity for rebellion, either. Three times a day, they were served a thick flavourless concoction, a viscous brown liquid. At least it was hot. The containers they drank it out of were edible and fell apart quickly anyway. Jack had thrown hers away once, poured it down the toilet in protest, and they'd tube-fed her at her next session. She wasn't in a hurry to repeat that experience. 

Miranda wondered if there was some ingredient in it that suppressed their biotic abilities, or if that was a more permanent fix that they'd undergone during the three days of unconsciousness that she and Jack had experienced but that Kelly had not.

Miranda had started to wonder how big the market for their milk could be. Was it being poured on the cornflakes of some wealthy, unimaginative plutocrat? Or was there an eccentric cult out there who thought a biotic's milk would make their children grow up strong? The former case implied their value might be exhausted quickly, something like the latter suggested that they could count their sentence in months.

Months more of this. Miranda honestly didn't know if she had the strength. It had been almost a month already. Perhaps death would be preferable.

And then she saw them strapping Kasumi in.

\--------------

“Hey Miranda,” said Kasumi. “How's it going? Oh, straps. _Nice_.” This last directed at Brains, who was pulling tight the restraints to immobilize her.

“Kasumi? Don't tell me you were looking for me too?” asked Miranda. She couldn't decide what kind of surprise this was. If this was Kasumi's idea of a rescue, it had clearly failed spectacularly already. On the other hand, it meant that they hadn't been forgotten. Perhaps rescue was on the way. Maybe if Shepard was on the case...

“Oh, wow, this thing makes my boobs look huge,” said Kasumi, as Brains fastened the compression sleeve around her chest, tightening it so that it pushed her breasts out into comical points. “So, funny story...”

“Kasumi,” said Miranda, her voice level and authoritative. “Do we look like we're in the mood for one of your stories?” She glanced over at Jack, who was trying to maintain control over the pain through gritted teeth, and Kelly, whose gaze was fixed on the mirror, apparently lost in some fantasy world. Neither of them had acknowledged Kasumi's arrival yet.

“Oh, yeah, well, I kind of... Hey, buy a girl a drink first, stud,” she said to Brains, who was ratcheting the dildo forwards into position. She bucked her hips around it and settled onto it with a moan. “Does this thing...?” she asked as Brains activated the pulsating vibrator. “Oh, wow, it does!”

“Kasumi, focus!” said Miranda. “Why are you here?”

“My own dumb fault, Miranda,” replied Kasumi, her voice a little strained. “For me? You shouldn't have,” she said as Brains put the suction cups over her breasts and activated the pumps. Her nipples were quickly drawn out to full extension. “Oh, sugar lumps, this feels weird,” she said.

Miranda noted that Kasumi seemed quite unbothered by the procedure so far, it was almost as if she had been expecting each step. But when the needles extended within the cups to spear her nipples, her cool was quite shattered. And the form of her response could not have been anticipated.

Miranda gave up on getting the story out of Kasumi during that first session. She came long and hard at least five times in the space of twenty minutes. Each time that her orgasm petered out and she regained some semblance of understanding of her predicament, it seemed to spur her to a new one. The panic in her eyes as she contemplated the needles and the involuntary electrically-induced contractions seemed to lead her inevitably to an intense peak.

The show snapped the others out of their own private hells. Jack gazed with her mouth slightly open, and Kelly blinked and started at each yip that Kasumi let out. She was coming again as they wheeled Miranda out, biting her lip and lost to the world.

\---------------

Kasumi's arrival lightened the mood in their cell considerably. Jack was still hurting, but at least she was distracted. Kelly seemed more animated and present than in several days.

“What do you think she's doing here?” asked Jack.

“I suppose she was looking for us,” replied Miranda. She didn't want to speculate aloud as to Kasumi's reasons for showing up. Something was ticking away at the back of Miranda's mind, there was something about Kasumi that didn't seem quite right. She didn't want to risk tipping off their captors, in case Kasumi was pulling some kind of long con. She guided the conversation away from the dangerous topic. “I realised I'd never seen her without that hood on,” she continued. “She's cute, isn't she?”

“ _Fudging_ cute,” said Jack, to a snort of amusement from Miranda, “if you like 'em weird. How could she get her lip done like that? That shit _hurts_.”

“This from the woman who looks like she fell through the roof of a pen factory,” replied Miranda, trying to get Jack riled up. Riled up was good. It meant less thinking about the pain.

“Oh, you're going to have to watch your back when we get out of here, cheerleader,” said Jack. “I am going to get you inked when you least expect it. Maybe 'Daddy's Little Girl' across your butt?”

Miranda, who had been kneading Jack's shoulders and working around the edges of her breasts, pushed her away. She sniffled. “Jack. How could you be so...hurtful?” she asked in a small voice, choking on the words a little.

“Oh, hey, princess, I'm sorry,” said Jack, turning to face Miranda, who squirted her in the face with a jet of milk, then stuck her tongue out. “Oh, you sneaky bitch! No fair!” Jack pushed Miranda back onto the cot, pinning her arms by her sides. “Kelly, get over here and leak on her majesty's genetically perfect face! Kelly?”

Kelly was staring off into space, one arm supporting her breasts, the other hand spread over her stomach, paying them little attention. “Guys. I think... I think I'm pregnant,” she said.

“Oh, _fudge_ ,” said Jack and Miranda at the same time.


	6. Chapter 6

It had felt good to horse around with Jack for a while, but the painful routine of the milking sessions quickly reasserted itself. Miranda didn't get the chance to talk to Kasumi again that day. The milking machine was still a novelty to her, the new and unusual feelings were still feeding her insatiable appetite, and she was barely coherent. Brains had decided he was fed up of her squealing and plugged her mouth so thoroughly that not even the the most basic grunt could escape. “Some fucking peace,” he muttered.

When you knew what you were looking for, it was obvious that Kelly was starting to show. Since neither Jack nor Miranda had gained weight appreciably during their confinement, it was unlikely to be the food. And Kelly was late, assuming she'd been counting the days right. It was showing faster than a normal pregnancy would, however, which left them some room for doubt. Kelly was sure, though, she felt it in her bones.

She was also adamant that she hadn't even been in the same room as any sperm, lately. Human sperm, at least, she admitted when their questioning became insistent. Unless Shepard had been giving a lot of blowjobs before she had gone down on her, there was basically no chance that hers was a natural pregnancy. Another reason that Miranda wanted to know what Kasumi had to say. Why was she here? How long did they have, one way or another? When would their situation be truly hopeless? Was Kelly going to have to give birth in this place?

But Jack was a more immediate concern. She must be very close to letting down by now. She was paying for their brief mirthful interlude with shooting pains radiating across her body. She was cranky, and as Miranda knew well, Jack wasn't very good at mastering her emotions. Miranda had to keep her from doing something stupid. She massaged Jack's shoulders and walked the tips of her fingers around to knead the edges of her tender breasts.

Jack batted her hands aside. “That shit isn't helping,” she said, flatly.

“It won't be long now, Jack,” Miranda reassured her. “It'll feel a lot better, when...”

“When they're pumping me like some fucking cow? Is that what you were you going to say?” replied Jack, her voice dangerously controlled. Miranda knew an explosion couldn't be far behind.

Trying to appease Jack would be exactly the wrong strategy. “Jack,” she said sternly, “you can act like a brat if you want. It won't change anything. It'll just make me think less of you.”

“You think I care what some leaky fucking cow thinks?” Jack spat back at her.

“You're always telling I was the spoiled little princess,” replied Miranda. “So how come it's you that doesn't have any self-control?”

“Oh my god,” said Jack, “you think you're still the boss, don't you?” She stood slowly to face Miranda, who was seated on the cot. “Funny. That's funny. You sure don't look like you're in charge when you're being pumped and fucked. You look like you're fucking _loving_ it.”

Jack was leaning over Miranda now, her face an accusatory rictus. “Calm down,” Miranda said, holding her ground and injecting boredom into her tone. That sometimes worked with Jack, although she doubted it would now. “You're going to strain yourself.”

“How about we see if you're really such an icy cool bitch, Miranda?” asked Jack, moving even closer, flecks of spittle leaping across the space to land in Miranda's cropped hair.

“Back off, you boring little freak,” said Miranda, looking away.

Jack reached down and grasped one of Miranda's nipples. She twisted, hard. “Ah, fuck!” cried Miranda, trying to bring her arms up in defence. Her tender, engorged nipples were permanently sore and felt as if they were wired in to everything between her knees and her nose. Jack yanked sideways and pushed, twisting hard, and Miranda fell back onto the cot.

Jack straddled her quickly, pinning her arms to her sides. “Who's the boss now, ice bitch?” she snarled, slipping a hand down to cup Miranda's sex firmly.

They were in a state of constant, near desperate arousal. They'd been doing their best not to think about it. Masturbation provided little relief. They hadn't quite agreed not to have sex with each other, Miranda had just never considered it and expected Jack to follow her lead.

“You're hurting, me, Jack,” said Miranda, although she was too proud to let any sign of pain into her voice. She thought she could probably get Jack off her, if she tried. But she didn't try. A part of her thought she deserved to be punished for getting them all into the situation. For letting down her guard, for getting captured, and then for not fighting as hard as she could against it.

Her more devious side thought that Jack needed to be distracted. Miranda could take a lot. Jack had pushed her limits before. Let her try again.

“Yeah? So fucking what? You're mine now, bitch,” replied Jack, one hand maintaining contact with the nipple that kept Miranda subdued, the other now exploring her slick, puffy folds. “You're going to get me off, cheerleader. You're going to get Jack, off.” 

Jack seemed pleased with the old gag. Miranda flushed red with need as Jack manipulated her expertly, fingers pressing and gliding across her lips and clit.

“Well?” said Jack threateningly. “Come on. Cheer! J! Say it, you fucking cold-hearted cow!”

Miranda's eyes widened as she realised how Jack intended to humiliate her. “J,” said Miranda, trying to sound neutral and bored, but unable to mask her need.

“Yeah, you fucking love it, don't you, control freak,” said Jack, twisting her nipple slowly from left to right and back again. “Next!”

“A,” gasped Miranda, her resistance failing, the pain at her nipple and the pleasure between her legs creating a rush of conflicting chemistries within her. “C.”

Jack slid forward a little and began to drag her own mound back and forth on Miranda's belly.

“K,” came out of Miranda more like a moan as Jack used her roughly. Miranda's stomach muscles tightened and she arched her back a little. She told herself she was trying to dislodge Jack. That she was absolutely in control. She was letting Jack do this. She could make it stop at any time.

“And what does that spell?” said Jack, humping away furiously, twisting Miranda's nipple to make her point.

“Jack!” Miranda declared in a strained whisper, her head back, so close to her climax. “Oh, Jack!” she exclaimed softly again.

Jack let out a cry of frustration and threw herself forward, getting one of Miranda's legs between her thighs and clenching, trying to maximise the contact with her pussy. Tears were streaming down her face. “Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you, cheerleader. Get me off. Make me come.”

Miranda slid a hand down between her thigh and Jack's insistent crotch. Jack arched her back as Miranda made contact with her clit, pushing down on her hand as hard as she could. Miranda levered herself up on her free elbow for better purchase and found herself face to face with Jack's nipples.

She could see little white spots at their tips.

Miranda curled her index finger slightly and moved her hand back and forth at high speed. As Jack closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, she dipped her neck forwards and enveloped one of her nipples in her mouth, sucking as hard as she could.

Jack screamed like a girl and tried to twist away, but Miranda had formed a perfect seal with her plump lips and wouldn't let her go. Miranda felt a rush of fluid coat her hand just as a powerful spurt hit the back of her throat. She kept rubbing at Jack's clit while she sucked repeatedly at her nipple, not stopping to swallow, until her mouth was full of creamy milk and she had to spit.

Jack's arms pushed weakly at her shoulders and she wailed miserably. “Ah, fuck,” she wept in a high voice. “Fuck.” Her hand went to her breast as Miranda relinquished it, hesitantly probing the nipple as if she couldn't believe it was still attached.

Miranda waited until Jack looked her in the eyes, then lowered her own meekly, and slowly moved to envelop Jack's other nipple in her mouth.

“Yeah, that's right, bitch,” said Jack, through tears, fear showing through her bravado. “Suck it.”


	7. Chapter 7

Miranda wouldn't have pegged Kasumi for a masochist. It was getting to be an inconvenience. She wanted to know what Kasumi was doing here and how long they might need to hold out before a rescue party might come looking. She got her chance on the third day since Kasumi's arrival.

“Hey there,” said Kasumi to Brains. “Any chance we can try without the gag today? Not that it's not fun. Hey, if I'm not quiet, you can always stuff it back in, right, big guy?”

Brains left the gag off but within easy reach. “Just let me get through the first one,” she said to Miranda, “then I'm all yours.”

Miranda watched as Kasumi hyperventilated briefly through pursed lips, then held her breath as the machines came to life and the needles went in. She gritted her teeth and screwed her eyes shut, and was admirably taciturn while her body jerked and twitched to the rhythm of her near-instantaneous climax.

“Hoo-boy,” said Kasumi, unclenching everything as she came down. “Hi Miranda, hi Jack. Hey, Kelly. Looking good, you guys.”

“Stop clowning around, Kasumi,” said Miranda. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I'll give you the short version,” replied Kasumi. “Since you guys seem impatient. Hey, it's not like we're going anywhere!”

None of them would dignify that with a response.

“Tough crowd,” said Kasumi, sighing. “OK, well. You know I steal stuff from rich people, right?”

The other women nodded.

“So naturally, I keep an eye on what rich people buy. What they like. There are some strange mother-lovers out there, I'm telling you. This one elcor, he has these volus who dress up like birds and...”

“Kasumi,” Miranda interrupted, using her best stare.

“Right. Sorry. Uh, one second here.” They waited while she did her breathing and clenching routine again. “As I was saying. Rich jerks. There's a sort of market, for people who want things, or for people to sell special things.”

“A black market?” asked Miranda.

“The most exclusive one you never heard of,” said Kasumi. “Don't bother knocking unless you own a small planet, basically.”

“But you have a backdoor into it,” said Miranda, trying to skip ahead.

“Hey, galaxy's greatest thief here. Got to know what's worth stealing. So one day I saw a hot new product. Little video attached.” Kasumi's breathing was getting more laboured as her sentences grew more clipped. “Uh. Excuse. Please.” Sweat gathered on her brow as she was driven to orgasm again.

“Isn't this the best thing ever?” she asked dreamily, before collecting herself. “Oh, hey, sorry about that. OK. The video. Miranda. The boobs. The milk. You know all about that. Outrageous prices, but you know about rich people and the price of milk, am I right?”

They let that one fall flat on it's face, too.

“So I tried to hack my way back to the source. No luck. They're too good at hiding,” Kasumi continued. “Then I got sneaky. I pretended to be a buyer. Um. You guys might not want to hear this...”

“Fuck!” said Jack. “Spit it out already, you crazy bitch!” She'd been tetchy since her milk had started flowing. The pain had faded to a dull insistent throbbing as the needles stimulated her, but tears of shame still collected at the corners of her eyes as each session progressed. She kept her chin raised haughtily to avoid seeing what was being done to her.

Kasumi had to take a few deep breaths before replying. When she did, her words ran together. “Milk's-not-the-only-thing-they're-selling. Oh god. Big guy? Over here. Yeah. Hurry it up, would ya?”

Brains looked less than delighted at being ordered about, but moved pretty quickly once Kasumi started letting out primal noises. He shoved the gag into her mouth roughly and it looked to Miranda as if she smiled gratefully around it just before screwing her eyes shut. She started jerking her hips back and forth as much as she could, working the dildo deeper inside. She didn't open her eyes again for the rest of the session.

Back in their cell, Miranda's eye kept returning to Kelly's stomach. She wondered what Kasumi had meant, and if Kelly's condition was the result. Did they intend to do that to all of them? If so, they'd be sorely disappointed. Miranda had tried without success to get pregnant before, exhausting every avenue that modern medical science had to offer. Ultimately she just didn't have the right genes for it, and she wasn't about to consider a retroviral hack to augment her DNA. 

She glanced at Jack, who was fuming quietly in the corner, face turned away from the others, taking some alone-time. No doubt Jack would insert pathogenic DNA strands into her own genome as easily as getting a new tattoo. Miranda thought that Jack's sense of identity was strong, much stronger than her own. It was one reason that she was attracted to her. Jack was irrepressible, her personality shone through the effects of alcohol or drugs, fatigue or adrenaline. She was reliable. She was always ready to make the same bad choices. One of which included their complicated, antagonistic relationship.

But Miranda had too much of her sense of self wrapped up in her DNA. If you changed your body's chemistry, wouldn't you also change your mind's? She'd seen enough people, good, rational people, ravaged by the hormonal effects of pregnancy. She'd seen them seek out quack treatments, follow diets of dubious worth, and become generally insufferably monomaniacal. She told herself she wouldn't be like that, if she could ever be a mother. But perhaps that was what they all thought, before the new life started growing inside them, and the chemicals started shifting.

She wondered if their captors were doing anything like that to them. If there was something in the food to make them more pliant, or to induce despair. If they were, it was subtle. Or perhaps they didn't want the merchandise to be contaminated. With high value product, picky customers would probably want it as unprocessed as possible.

Miranda found herself looking at Kelly again. What were they doing to her? And why? Kelly met her eye. Miranda acknowledged her with a nod, meant to convey confidence. Confidence that she didn't feel.

Miranda wasn't able to get any more answers out of Kasumi that day, or the next. Brains had her strapped and gagged by the time the productive women were brought in, and didn't remove the gag as she was taken away.

Her breasts were already massively enhanced. She must already be close to letting down. Perhaps the pain was making her too vocal for Brains's liking. Kasumi did have a problem keeping her inner monologue to herself, after all. Miranda thought back to when Kasumi had first shown up in the milking suite. She tried to pinpoint the anomaly that had disturbed her then, before she had been distracted by other matters.

It had taken Kelly the better part of two weeks to start letting down milk, and Miranda a week longer when she tried to hold out. If Kasumi was about to pop, so to speak, after a mere four or five days... was it even possible?

Or did she have a head start? Miranda tried remember the first time she'd met Kasumi. She closed her eyes and began reconstructing the timeline mentally. Shepard returned from a mission carrying a garment bag, alarms started going off on Miranda's omni-tool, she went to her office, she found her chair spinning...

_“Oops. Busted,” said Kasumi, decloaking. “Your system must be better than I thought.”_

_Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you wanted to get caught. Or you're not as good as we think you are,” she replied._

_“Guilty, as charged,” Kasumi said, laughing as she strode nimbly towards the door. “I'll let you get back to it. Nice meeting you.”_

Miranda opened her eyes again. She understood. There was no way Kasumi's breasts had been as large as they were when she arrived here, back then. She must have been preparing herself. Was she expecting to get caught? Planning for it?

Or, the depressing possibility occurred to Miranda, perhaps Kasumi had seen the video of her being forced to produce milk, and was kinky enough to want to try it out at home. That would fit with her general demeanour so far. Miranda didn't want to pin her hopes on someone she considered unreliable. She didn't want to hope at all, in fact.

She wanted payback. She wanted to crush every batarian scumbag in here to a pulp. She wanted a violent, bloody end to this ordeal. She was damned if she was going to be rescued like some helpless little girl. She'd tear this place down to the ground and grind it to dust. 

Miranda wondered if this was what Jack felt like all the time. She looked up as Kelly approached her, kneeling in front of the cot she was sitting on. Kelly pried her hand from where Miranda was gripping the edge of the cot like the guardrail over a steep drop. She wrapped it in her own hands.

“Is there still a real bitch in there, Miranda?” asked Kelly, surprising her. Jack looked over from her corner, confused.

Miranda hoped like hell she still had it in her. But she knew what Kelly wanted to hear. She nodded. She'd fake it if she had to.

“Good,” said Kelly. “We're going to need her.”


	8. Chapter 8

They were all present the next day in the milking suite when Kasumi managed to make herself heard even around the inflatable gag in her mouth. Like the buildup to an earthquake, they were first aware of a rattling as she fought against her restraints, followed by far-away-sounding noises, distant rumblings and alarms, until it was suddenly _here, now_ , she looked like she was about to tear her arms free, to rip the dildo off its stand with her bucking hips. A nearly ultrasonic scream worked its way around the gag as she closed her eyes and her body convulsed.

Two dribbles of milk turned into two spurts, and Kasumi slumped down, spent, barely conscious. The rest of the session passed without incident as she filled a bottle to the half-way mark.

Both Kelly and Miranda needed their bottles changing partway through the session as they filled them to brim. Miranda hated it, of course, but she couldn't deny that the first session of the day offered some relief to her aching back and swollen breasts. She speculated that any intelligent operation would wake them up at night for another session, instead of giving them that much downtime. Perhaps it really was a shoestring operation, and there just weren't enough batarians to work shifts. Jack was still some way behind, still refusing to look at the receptacles at all.

They took Kasumi to their communal cell after that session. They found her curled up on the cot, snoring. As Happy and Junior retreated, Miranda saw that Kelly was already sitting with her, ready to be there when she woke up.

Now maybe she'd get some answers. But Miranda wasn't heartless. She knew Kasumi had just been through a painful, humiliating ordeal, and although she had probably enjoyed it on some level, it was not something one could shrug off lightly. Being milked like an animal, being shown as much respect as a farmyard creature... it was slavery, pure and terrifyingly simple. If Kasumi hadn't realised it before, she certainly would now.

Kelly's brow slowly knotted up as she sat on the corner of the cot, idly stroking Kasumi's back. Her foot tapped on the floor with increasing frequency. She drew her hands together in her lap and straightened her back. Finally she made a decision. She leant down to whisper in Kasumi's sleeping ear.

“With syrup?” croaked Kasumi, sitting up suddenly, her eyes bleary and unfocused. “Oh. Hey, Kelly.”

Miranda watched, darkly amused. Kasumi hadn't been very forthcoming when Miranda had tried to keep her on topic, but granted, she had been distracted. It seemed as if Kelly was going to exercise her professional skills. Miranda was content to let her try. She could always step in later.

“Hi Kasumi,” said Kelly. “We're all really glad to see you, you know.”

“Me too, red. I was getting a bit lonely, you know,” said Kasumi, arranging her limbs to lean comfortably against the wall.

“We think they put us in here once... you know,” replied Kelly. “We're not sure why.”

“To mess with our heads, maybe,” replied Kasumi. “So we don't fight it? Hey, you'd be the expert.”

“It's plausible,” replied Kelly, letting her hand settle on Kasumi's thigh, to pet it a little. “But we weren't expecting you so soon, Kasumi. It took each of us at least two weeks to get to this point.”

Kasumi had the decency to look embarrassed. “Well, you know, when I saw Miranda's video...” she began.

Miranda felt nothing. Kasumi had confirmed the worst case scenario, that she had just been inspired to try and induce lactation on her own for fun. Then she'd been captured posing as a buyer, neutralised. Miranda had been expecting nothing less. Hope was for the weak. 

But perhaps all wasn't lost. Kasumi wasn't stupid enough to expose herself to that kind of risk without a backup plan, was she? Could they let her talk about it, here? Miranda assumed they were under surveillance. If the batarians were watching, they would find out and take action.

“You wanted to know what it was like,” Kelly finished for Kasumi. “But I guess you got a bit more than you bargained for, didn't you?”

“We'd better not talk about that,” replied Kasumi, “or I won't be able to think straight.”

“You're probably right,” said Kelly, touching Kasumi on the arm reassuringly. “You were telling us about how you got caught. You know, we've got time to hear the whole story, if you'd like to tell it?”

Miranda was, as ever, impressed with Kelly's ability to get people talking and gently nudge the conversation in the right direction. Kasumi liked nothing better than telling her stories. She settled in to listen.

Kasumi cleared her throat and began. “OK, well, when we all had to leave the Normandy, I went to check in on a few of my old long term projects.

“The black market I told you about was heaving. Most of the scumbags there were looking to make money off a war. They might say they're not worried in public... but they're worried. They're moving weapons, artifacts, anything that might go up in value when the Reapers get here. But hey, that kind if thing isn't news to you, right?

“Then there's the scumbags who are there for rare goods and services. Miranda's video was going around on a... kind of a viral distribution thing. Real subtle. Like, if you didn't know who Miranda was, they weren't interested in your business.

“Of course, you don't just call up and place an order. Nobody wants to get caught, so there are middle-men who build up a reputation for keeping the buyers and sellers apart. Easy-peasy to hack, for someone like me.

“Normally, that is. Not sure what went wrong this time. I went to meet with the in-between guy, and they jumped me. You know me, I've always got a plan B, but they had that covered too. I don't know who sold me out. It's not like a lot of people know what I look like, or that I ever worked with you guys.”

Miranda spoke up. “The Illusive Man,” she said. 

“I get that you pissed him off,” said Kasumi. “But I didn't think he went in for the whole 'friends and family' approach to revenge.”

“He's kind of a dick,” Miranda said.

Jack laughed from her corner. She had been retreating there more often, to think whatever dark thoughts she needed to maintain her inner strength.

“Well, he is!” Miranda snapped.

“No argument here,” said Kasumi. “Anyway, I figured since I'm stuck here for a while, I might as well enjoy myself. Until you get us out of here, that is.”

Miranda let her gaze rise to the corner of the ceiling, where she assumed any surveillance devices would be hidden. “You know me,” she said, trying to match her tone to Kasumi's light-hearted confidence, even though she didn't share her optimism. “I've got these bastards right where I want them.”

“Kasumi?” Kelly asked, bringing them back to the subject at hand. “You said something before. About there being other things for sale. Not just milk.”

“I did?” said Kasumi, sounding uncertain. She covered Kelly's hand with her own. “I don't remember. Sorry, red, I was pretty out of it.”

“Kasumi,” said Kelly, moving to sit next to her against the wall. She pressed lightly against Kasumi, bringing her face in close. “You know we don't keep secrets from each other,” she reminded her.

Kasumi looked ashamed. She looked in Kelly's eyes, then away. “Trust me, red,” she said. “You don't want to know.”

“Oh, you're sweet,” said Kelly, putting her hand on Kasumi's cheek. “But I'm a big girl. You don't need to protect me.”

Kasumi's face reddened under Kelly's light touch. “Meat,” she stammered quietly. She took a deep breath. “They're selling meat.”

“Thank you, honey,” said Kelly, calmly enough. Then she stood swiftly and paced to the toilet. She knelt and vomited crisply into the bowl. Jack had the decency to go to her and make sure she was alright.

Kasumi looked shocked by Kelly's reaction. “Hey, red, they're not going to eat us straight away,” she said, trying to make light of it.

“Kasumi,” said Miranda, relishing the bombshell she was about to drop despite the seriousness of their predicament. “She's pregnant.”

None of them had ever seen Kasumi angry before. “Oh, those mother-humping fudge-sticks,” she said. “I am going to...” she stopped, and performed a brief breathing exercise, calming rapidly. On the ten count she was in control again. “Phew. Almost went full kaiju there.”

Kelly, her eyes puffy and red, rose and returned to the cot where Kasumi was sitting, although she didn't take her place. She stood in front of Kasumi with her hand on her hip, her milk-heavy breasts swinging, her sex glistening, as all of theirs did. Their permanent state of induced arousal was by now just another one of their trials. “Still working on the mood swings, I see,” she said.

“I'm sorry, red,” said Kasumi. “Hey, if there's something I can do...?”

Kelly sighed. “I am kind of getting fed up of these two making eyes at each other,” she said, indicating Jack and Miranda. “Really, they're like teenagers. If they just learned how to talk to each other...” She rolled her eyes dramatically.

And just like that, Kelly had lightened the mood. Miranda congratulated her mentally on her adroit handling of the situation. She decided to play along. “Hey, I'm not the one who can't talk about her feelings,” she said, defensively.

“Oh, bite me,” replied Jack sarcastically. “You're so bottled up you should be in the ketchup aisle.”

“Oh my gosh, you're so right, Kelly,” said Kasumi, rearranging herself on the cot. “If only we had popcorn.”

Kelly sat back down next to Kasumi, back to the wall. “You haven't had to watch them trying to be quiet when they think I'm asleep,” she whispered conspiratorially, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “They _touch_ each other. In the _girl_ parts.”

“Oh, we do not,” huffed Jack. “Now you're just making shit up.”

Indeed they didn't. Miranda was quite strict about it, and apart from their one regrettable lapse, had managed to keep Jack's wandering hands under control. They even tried to sleep back-to-back on their shared cot to minimise the chances of accidentally disturbing each other.

“You poor thing,” said Kasumi. “You must be so lonely.”

Miranda watched them with some confusion. Was this... _roleplay_? Was this how Kelly and Kasumi normally interacted? She watched as Kelly pouted and gave an exaggerated nod.

“You know, if I didn't have a boyfriend, I'd be all over you, red,” said Kasumi, putting an arm around Kelly's shoulders.

That was the first that Miranda had heard about Kasumi having a partner. She doubted the veracity of the revelation, given the reliability of the source.

“You know,” Kelly replied in a small voice, “you wouldn't have to tell him...”

“Cheat on him?” said Kasumi, sounding indignant but with a smile on her face. “And then have you blackmail me whenever you like?”

“How could you even imagine I'd do something like that?” said Kelly sadly. “I thought you were my friend.”

“Aw, I'm sorry, red,” said Kasumi, pulling Kelly closer. “I didn't mean it like that.” Kelly turned to curl up in Kasumi's arms, where she sniffled dramatically into her shoulder. Their breasts mashed together and spread between them.

Their lips brushed each other and Kelly let out a breathy gasp of satisfaction.

As their fumblings grew more serious Jack came to join Miranda on her cot. “What the _fuck_?” she whispered.

Miranda was glad to have Jack by her side. She was not unmoved by the affection on display. “Let them have this, Jack,” she said. “I think they need it.”

Kasumi had a hand between Kelly's legs and was exploring her sensitised folds delicately. Kelly was gasping and writhing at the attention. “How come they get to, and we don't?” asked Jack, slipping an arm around Miranda.

Miranda stiffened at the contact. “We shouldn't,” she said flatly. Kelly had lain back and Kasumi was sliding on top of her, kneading Kelly's sex and exploring her long neck with her lips.

“Why not?” asked Jack, pulling Miranda closer. “What's the fucking _point_? We might as well get ourselves off, too.”

Watching Kelly and Kasumi in the throes of passion, Miranda felt her objections crumbling. One reason she hadn't been more intimate with Jack was that she hadn't wanted to make Kelly feel isolated. The other was that she just didn't want to give the batarians the satisfaction of seeing her lose control over herself. But who was she trying to fool? That had already happened several times over. 

She hadn't been able to stop them from capturing her. She hadn't been able to stop them from milking her. She hadn't been able to stop them from doing the same and worse to her friends.

“You having any guests to the pity-party, princess?” asked Jack, who had been studying her face.

Miranda turned to her, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I...” she started.

“Aw, shut up for once,” said Jack. “Let me make you feel good.” Jack licked Miranda's tear from her cheek, then went in for a slow kiss. Miranda was breathless. Tenderness from Jack was unexpected. She didn't know how to react. She loved Jack's enthusiasm and sexual appetite, but bedroom compatibility wasn't why they really got along. 

They were both fucked-up in their own ways, and they had both dealt with it on their own their whole lives. They recognised that strength in each other, and it drew them together. At least, that was Miranda's theory. Whether Jack was that introspective was another question.

They didn't need each other for emotional support. At least, Miranda hadn't thought so until now. Now Jack was offering to share her burden and she was overwhelmed with gratitude.

It wouldn't do to let the little punk know it, though. Instead she just returned the kiss firmly, and let Jack push her legs apart so that she could kneel between them. Around Jack's huge, pendulous breasts, she could see Kasumi and Kelly wriggling in an increasingly sweaty tangle. She felt herself flowing with desire as Jack wasted no time in lighting her up with a well placed finger.

Miranda gasped and finally gave up any semblance of control. She grew vocal, and demanding. “You want more, cheerleader? Beg me for it,” Jack said, responding with increased pressure nevertheless. That was more like Jack, thought Miranda, she loved to make her lose her cool. She knew how she was supposed to respond.

“You'll never,” she gasped, “make me come like that. Put your back into it, you scrawny freak.”

“Oh, you'll come alright,” replied Jack, slipping another finger inside Miranda. “But not until you beg, bitch.”

Miranda arched her back and thrust herself against Jack's hand. Gasps and moans coming from the cot opposite barely distracted her. She was on fire. She pushed her breasts together with her hands and Jack lowered her face between them, kissing around the soft flesh and the sensitive nipples.

Jack pulled back suddenly. “Oh, no, you're not gonna trick me like that,” she said. “Beg. Come on. Beg Jack to make you come. Tell Jack you need it.”

Miranda would normally try to draw this part out as long as she could, but she was already so close, and repeating Jack's words was such a comforting idea. She just wanted a few moments without responsibility. Let Jack hold her up. Just for a minute. “Please,” she moaned. “Please, Jack, I need you to fuck me. I need you so bad.”

Jack looked a little disappointed that it had been so easy. “Are you sure?” she drawled.

Miranda turned her head to the side and bit her lip. Kasumi was watching them. Kelly lay on her back with her eyes closed, satisfied for the moment, but Kasumi was alert and excited. She got up from her cot and came over to stand before them. Miranda could see her dripping bush up close. “You guys need a hand?” asked Kasumi, hopefully. “Or a tit?”

Jack looked at her, brows furrowed. Then she relented. “Huh,” she said, her hand still manipulating Miranda, who wasn't struggling as much as she'd like. “Yeah. OK. Make her suck your tit and I'll let her come. You hear that, princess? You've gotta suck crazy bitch tittie if you want to get off.”

“Like _Christmas_ ,” said Kasumi in a low voice as she knelt to bring her nipple within range of Miranda's mouth. “Come on, Miranda. Here it comes...” Kasumi kneaded her breast to produce a small trickle of milk.

Miranda turned her head away, then remembered that she wanted desperately to come. She looked up at Jack with narrowed eyes. “I hate you,” she moaned. “I really fucking hate you.”

“Drink your milk, cheerleader,” replied Jack, squeezing Miranda in her hand and making her gasp. “It's fucking good for you.”

Miranda turned her head to the proffered nipple and examined it. Engorged, an angry shade of red, the nipple must be tender and painful. She opened her mouth but quickly closed it again. Jack twisted her hand and Miranda's mouth opened wide as she drew in breath involuntarily. Kasumi reacted quickly and plugged it with her tit.

Miranda tried to spit but Jack leaned forward and grabbed her nose between her knuckles with her free hand. Jack waited until she heard Kasumi's gasp, and saw Miranda's throat pulsing as she started to suck. “Oh, sugar, that's awesome,” said Kasumi. “That's so fudging good.”

Jack, distracted by Kasumi's delighted response, kept Miranda's nose clamped shut until she started to choke. Then she retracted her hand in a hurry, and Kasumi pulled away as Miranda coughed up a mouthful of milk, hurriedly swallowing part of it to clear her airway.

“Fuck, yeah, that's what I'm talking about,” said Jack. Miranda felt thoroughly humiliated and disgusted, but that just made her more desperate for release. Jack always knew how to push her beyond her limits.

“Please,” she begged. “Jack, please.” Jack obliged her with a twist and a flick of her hand, a filthy, milky kiss making her feel so dirty, and so loved, as she was finally allowed her climax.

“Want a taste?” said Kasumi, offering her breast to Jack.

“Piss off, pervert,” said Jack, smiling back at her.

“Hey, any time, just say the word, stud,” Kasumi replied.


	9. Chapter 9

Miranda woke up early the next day with a splitting headache. Her sinuses felt like they had been stuffed with wool, there was an itching tenderness in her soft palate that wouldn't shift no matter how she stretched her mouth and massaged her jaw.

She wondered if this was punishment for their antics of the previous day. They'd been like rutting animals by the end, all of them, and displaying an embarrassing lack of imagination. At the beginning they had fallen into old patterns, pairing off and playing their usual roles. If she and Jack had been surprised by Kelly and Kasumi's first little roleplay, they'd been positively shocked by the range of inventively filthy scenarios the two of them cooked up between them. They improvised slutty, prissy, clownish, severe, characters whose only common feature was a fascination with sex. Oh god. Elcor doctor and volus nurse, complete with voices... it shouldn't have been so sexy. It really shouldn't.

They'd drawn Jack into their games first by using her as a prop, acting around her, getting her to hold the 'criminal' still while the 'officer' searched her, but before long she found herself in the role of the undertaker at a particularly raunchy funeral... it had actually warmed Miranda's heart to see Jack behaving so ridiculously. She didn't mind in the least. Their relationship didn't require physical exclusivity, by any means.

Miranda herself had stayed on the sidelines, the captive audience, until near the end when they had run out of scenarios, or excuses, and were shamelessly getting each other off as quickly and as hard as they could. Then she'd extracted Jack and brazenly demanded satisfaction from her. Jack was feeling high and generous and had obliged her. With extra tongue.

But now she was paying for the night of excess with a throbbing migraine. On the plus side, in comparison to her head, her heavy breasts barely ached at all. She sat on the edge of the cot, supporting her head as carefully as possible, while she watched the others sleeping. Kelly was spooning Kasumi, who mumbled in her sleep. Jack snored without fail every fourth breath. Miranda realised just how attached she'd become to all of them in such a short space of time. She remembered when she would barely give Kelly the time of day, keeping her professional mask up in front of her at all times, wary of what she might be feeding the Illusive Man behind her back. 

She had to get them out of here. If they'd impregnated Kelly as soon as they arrived, and she'd just started to show... the artificially accelerated pregnancy could reach term in as little as another four weeks. 

It was damned hard to think, the way her head felt. She didn't know why they all seemed to be relying on her the way they were. They'd all of them, well, perhaps except for Kelly, been in tight spots before, and hadn't needed Miranda to come to the rescue.

Or... perhaps she wasn't giving the others enough credit. She was doing her best to keep their morale up. Maybe they were doing the same for her. They were leaning on her so that _she_ wouldn't fall over. So that she'd keep propping them up, and never give up, no matter what new humiliation each day brought. That's just the way she was. She was a leader. It was in her genes.

Kelly awoke looking much like Miranda felt. She untangled herself carefully from Kasumi's limbs and squatted on the toilet. She didn't say anything, just looked at Miranda through bleary eyes, a half-smile on her sleepy face.

They came for them while Jack and Kasumi were still asleep. Kelly was docile as they took her. Miranda woke the others gently so that the batarians wouldn't do it roughly. Now that there were three of them who were useful in a fight, they might have had a chance, but she wasn't particularly keen on sudden movement this morning.

They took Jack, then Kasumi. Miranda sat alone in the cell, nursing her head, waiting for her own turn. Happy and Junior came for her eventually, Happy with his dick in his hand, leering at her. Miranda blinked several times. His shock baton. Not his dick. Her eyes were playing up. Little shooting stars came from the edges of her vision to expire at her focal point. This was turning into a proper migraine. 

She didn't get migraines. She was supposed to be perfect. But too much sex and too much lactation made for a mix of hormones that perhaps even her advanced metabolism hadn't been designed to cope with. A drink of water would be nice. She'd kill for a glass.

Miranda was distracted and didn't notice them taking her around the wrong way until they were in the room on the wrong side of the glass. So. Another interview with Smokey. Was he going to tell her to get them to stop molesting the produce? If he was worried about that, he'd never have put them all in the same room together.

Junior parked her wheelchair in front of the one-way mirror again. She watched as Brains tapped at the milk receptacles, checking over his other equipment. Kasumi had asked for the gag again. Miranda was amazed that she had anything left to give after last night. She couldn't possibly still be enjoying herself. But it seemed that she was, Miranda could see her shifting her hips back and forth around the dildo.

Jack's murderous eyes followed Brains around the room, but that was normal for her. Miranda was pretty sure Jack could take a whole lot more pain. It was being powerless and humiliated that she couldn't tolerate. Kelly was blinking back tears. She'd grown gradually used to the level of pain the machines inflicted on them, but it looked like she was feeling it more today.

Smokey ambled in, a stub of cigarette smouldering between his fingers. He stood by Miranda and took in the scene in the milking suite as he lit a fresh one. The smoke didn't do anything for her head. She felt dizzy and sick. What the hell. If he wanted to have a conversation with her, she'd need to be in good enough condition to hold up her end.

“Water,” she croaked at him in a whisper. “Please.”

He looked surprised for a moment, as if he hadn't been expecting to find her there. Then he went over to the side of the room, where there was a sink, and drew a small disposable cup of water from the tap. He brought it carefully to her lips. Miranda sipped gratefully. The stabbing intensity of her headache receded slightly.

Smokey adopted his relaxed pose up against the glass, facing Miranda. “So you don't want to get pregnant,” he said.

Miranda felt a flush of heat rise up her face. Anger seemed to help her headache recede further. She tamped it down, sending it to the place she had been stockpiling her rage. “I can't,” she replied as neutrally as she could. “Something's not right with me.”

“Pity,” puffed Smokey, after a long drag. “We've had some orders. And our clients... not people who like to be disappointed. The redhead was surprisingly popular, although she's a nobody. The crazy bitch has been pre-ordering pretty well. But nobody seems to want a bite of patient Zero.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Miranda. Her heart was beating faster, and her head was feeling better. More oxygen to the brain, she supposed.

“You've kept her under control so far,” replied Smokey. “This is just to let you know, so you can prepare her for it. We're doing her today. She'll be carrying yours for you, since you don't seem to be up to it.”

Miranda's heart sank. “No,” she protested. “You'll kill her. It's too much.”

“It's business,” shrugged Smokey. “Hey, if you prefer, we can just put you all to sleep. We'll lose out on the vid distribution but we'll make it up on product.” He gestured with his cigarette. “Or you can keep her under control. Your choice.”

_Your choice._

A poor choice of words.

_“Miranda, I'm giving you a choice here,” says Henry. “Stay with me, and forget all this silliness.”_

_“I'm just an experiment to you, aren't I? Not even a successful one. Give me one good reason,” Miranda replies._

_“You'll have a sister. Didn't you always want a sister?” Henry asks._

_“Another experiment?” Miranda spits. “You think you'll get it right this time? You think she'll be grateful?”_

_“Well, you certainly aren't. I've given you everything, and this is how you repay me? By choosing to betray me?”_

_Miranda clenches her fists and speaks in a low, strained voice, vibrating with anger. “I think you need to look that word up.”_

_“I know what betrayal is, girl, and this is it,” says Henry with some frustration._

_“No,” she replies, turning for the door. “Choice.”_

Miranda's head was pounding, fit to explode, although it didn't so much hurt as distort the entire world around her. The entire room seemed to expand and contract in time to her breathing. Her heart was thundering in her chest. “No,” she said. “Unacceptable.”

Smokey looked at her, perplexed.

“I'll give you one chance,” Miranda said, her voice steely with controlled fury. “Let us go now and you'll live,” She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. “I'll take an eye. Maybe two. But you'll be alive. Your other option is to die screaming.”

Smokey opened his mouth and started laughing, wreaths of smoke puffing out of his lungs.

Inside the milking suite, Kelly was eyeing her reflection, measuring the size of her belly against the tiles on the far wall. If she lined up her head with that tile, then... did she look bigger today? How much? 

Jack was staring at the back of Brains's neck as he fiddled with some equipment. Grab the enema tube from the wall, loop it around, kick off his back, flip, yank, should do the trick. Or tangle his legs, take him down, crush his windpipe with an elbow. Also fine. Or go for the eyes, thumbs and index fingers to get all four at once...

Kasumi was humping away, focusing on the intense stabbing pain at her nipples. Oh fudge, how could they be doing this to her? She felt like such a slut. Fudge, it got her so horny she couldn't think straight. She had to get one of these things. And someone to strap her into it. And maybe a safeword. Oh sugar, it might be too much. Was it too much? Oh, fudge, she _could_ take more. She could go one more time. She was _such_ a slut.

They all recoiled in surprise as the mirror at the side of the room exploded in a horizontal fountain of wicked shards of glass. A cone of razor-sharp half-silvered daggers plowed into Brains and sliced him to shreds. He collapsed in a gurgling heap, his lifeblood pumping out of him in seconds.

None of the glass had gone anywhere else. It had all been funnelled into his body, several square metres of plate now leaving a jagged hole where the mirror used to stand.

Miranda sat in her wheelchair on the other side of the opening, chest heaving, a murderous glare in her eyes. Smokey, the glass gone from behind him, dropped his cigarette as he lost his balance and fell backwards into the milking suite.

Miranda's fists glowed blue and her restraints burst free, wrists and ankles. She stood, fists still clenched, and stepped over the broken edge into the room. Smokey backed away from her on his elbows, scrabbling at the cigarette that had landed on him and was burning his clothes.

“Wait, please,” he had time to beg, before Miranda pinned him with a field and put a foot on his neck.

“You made your choice,” she said grimly. He whined pitifully and she crushed his throat.

Miranda went straight for Jack's restraints, getting her hands free so that she could help. Jack didn't waste time waiting for her to find the off switch. She just yanked the suction cups right off her breasts, screaming in agony and victory as the fine needles were dragged out at an unusual angle. Her last spurt of milk dribbled onto the floor.

“The switch is right here, dumb-arse,” said Miranda, moving to Jack's ankles and letting her take care of the waistband. “Don't hurt the others like that.” She nodded towards them. “Hurry up. We're going to have company in a minute.”

“How much have you got?” asked Jack, as she eased herself free of the dildo and went to liberate Kasumi.

“Feels like everything,” replied Miranda. “But Kasumi'll know. Get that gag off her. I've got questions.”

As soon as Jack undid Kasumi's gag she started to talk. “Oh, wow, it worked really fast!” she said. “You should have full biotic capability. No restrictions, no time limit. Normal service...”

“Has been resumed,” finished Miranda, as she noticed a batarian head peering around the door in the room behind the former mirror. She flung up a defensive barrier and a tranquilizer dart bounced off it harmlessly. “Jack, find a weapon and cover the door. Kasumi, get Kelly free. We can't stay here.”

“The bitch is back,” said Kelly as Kasumi extricated her from her milking station.

“Damn straight,” echoed Jack, who had found a disturbing looking surgical implement a bit like a huge spoon.

“Kasumi, any idea where we are?” asked Miranda.

“Nope, sorry,” she replied. “Most of my story was true. I had to get caught. We could be anywhere.” Kelly was free and upright.

“OK, ladies, we're moving,” said Miranda. “Kasumi, get the door. Jack, be ready with that...thing. Kelly, stay by me. Now!” Miranda gathered up bevy of glass bottles with a biotic field and accelerated them through the former mirror to the smash around the far door. The batarian head there retreated quickly.

Kasumi pulled the door to the milking suite open. Junior stood on the other side, crouched and ready, a stun baton in his raised arm. Jack swung hard with her ersatz weapon and succeeded in obtaining his undivided attention. Then she whipped a length of surgical tubing around his neck and yanked him forward through the door. He stumbled, and although he was big, it was enough. She went for the eyes and he screamed, collapsing to the floor. She got hold of the stun baton and fed it to him point first. He went limp.

“Jack, stop arsing about,” said Miranda. “I'm going through.” She stepped through the door with her barriers extended around her and sighted up and down the corridor. “Clear. Come through. This way.”

“Why this way?” asked Kelly. 

“Opposite way from where they keep us,” explained Miranda as they walked. “Cell blocks are usually at a dead end. More secure that way. Kasumi, Jack, eyes behind. There's still at least one loose.”

“The pervert?” asked Kasumi.

“Think so,” replied Miranda. “Ah. This'll do.” She opened a door onto a small room with a bunk bed. “Kelly?” she asked.

“Small room,” said Kelly, stepping inside. “Small facility,” she concluded. “Not enough space for everyone to have their own room.” She began a quick search. 

“Miranda!” called Jack. Miranda flicked her attention to the corridor behind them. Jack and Kasumi were crouched by the near wall. A trank dart pinged off the wall but missed all of them. She caught sight of the last batarian ducking back around a corner some thirty metres distant. 

“Hold here,” she instructed. “Barricade yourselves inside if you see movement.” Miranda extended her barrier in front of her and started to walk down the corridor at a deliberate pace. She didn't feel like running, not with her breasts unsupported as they were.

She was half-way to the corner when a door on her right swished open. She ducked and rolled immediately as a dart pinged into the opposite wall of the corridor. Happy came out pointing his little tranquilizer gun in one hand and brandishing a stun baton in the other. Miranda smiled up at him, showing him her teeth, then flipped her barrier inside out to create a warp field.

She saw his head actually lengthen under the lateral pressure of the warp before it exploded in a spatter of blood and gore. Ha. Horse faced batarian. Stupid arsehole.

Miranda stood up, victorious, light-headed, and started to head back down the corridor. After two paces her knees felt weak. She looked down. A tranquilizer dart protruded from her abdomen. She stumbled and fell.


	10. Chapter 10

“I had the weirdest dream, Jack,” said Miranda.

Jack looked up at her and paused for a moment. She pushed her huge sunglasses up off her nose to peer at Miranda. “Yeah?” she said. Then she got back to shovelling.

“It was... oh, never mind,” said Miranda, laying her head back on the cool sand. “This is nice. I'm feeling so much better.”

Jack looked, paused, did the thing with the sunglasses. “Yeah?” She tossed another shovelful of cool sand onto Miranda's torso.

“I could just go to sleep here,” said Miranda, as Jack piled sand onto her, the cool damp grains sucking the heat out of her skin and making the painful sunburn recede.

“Yeah?” 

Miranda felt the coolness spread from her toes up to her neck as Jack buried her. She started to relax, finally. It had been so long since she had just lay still and had nothing to do, no cares or responsibilities.

She felt a pinch. And another. “Ah! Jack! There's things in here with me!” she cried. The thick blanket of sand lay heavily upon her and she found that she couldn't move her arms or legs. She twisted her head around. “Jack! There's bloody crabs in this sand! Jack?”

Jack had gone. The pinches grew rhythmic and coordinated, painful bites at her sore nipples. There was a muffled thud from somewhere inland, beyond the dunes. A short rain of dirt pattered down onto the beach.

Miranda heaved with all her might. The sand hardly gave at all. Another thump, this one closer, accompanied by a rattle of pebbles being dashed against a wall.

Miranda heaved again. “Jack! What's going on? Get me out of here!” A loud bang, from not very far away at all, and the sand around her arm avalanched away. She started to clear sand from her body in a panic when a black cloud of dirt rained out of the sky to land squarely on her face.

Miranda awoke gasping, sitting bolt upright.

\--------------

“Ah, fuck,” she cried, as the reason for the pain in her nipples became obvious. Two suction cups were attached to her breasts, drawing her nipples to full extension. The rhythmic hum of a vacuum pump was drawing her milk out in thick spurts.

Miranda looked around. She was on a bed, a nice one, in a large room. This didn't look like the facility they had been kept in. This looked like a fancy hotel. Apart from the milking unit on wheels by the side of the bed. That was out of place. She had filled half a bottle while unconscious, it appeared.

There were noises in the distance. The rattle of small arms fire and the occasional muffled thud. Grenades? Or biotic explosions?

Miranda found the off switch and disentangled herself from the milking machine. This model didn't come with needles, or straps, or that god-awful violating dildo. Just suction cups and pump. Miranda wasn't even restrained. She didn't know what to make of it.

She got off the bed. She was naked. A burst of noise sounded suddenly close by, not far outside the window. Definitely gunfire. Raised voices. Mercs? Miranda looked around for something she could use as a weapon. The bedroom was large, minimally furnished but finished to a very high standard.

She found something better than a gun. She wasted no time in slithering into her skintight jumpsuit. It was a struggle to get her breasts inside, but her gear was top of the line and wasn't about to bust a seam. After weeks of swinging in the breeze, some support felt amazing. The long black boots and gloves slipped on like an oil slick. She felt her posture shift, and her attitude return. Domineering bitch was back.

Miranda clenched her fists, generating a blue glow around them. She felt fucking fantastic. Whoever was outside that door was in for a surprise. She put up her barriers, and stepped through.

Chaos greeted her. She ducked quickly as rifle fire raked the wall next to her. This had been, until very recently, a well appointed living area. Now it was smoky with debris. She scooted over to take cover behind a sofa.

“Hey, sleepy-head,” said Kasumi, uncloaking next to her. “Glad you could join us.”

“What've I missed?” asked Miranda.

Kasumi poked her head up and fired her submachine gun in a long burst across the room. “Oh, you know, daring escape, hot pursuit, crash landing,” she said. “The usual.”

“You'll have to fill me in later,” said Miranda. “Who are they and what do they want?” She peeked over the sofa and launched a warp field at an incautious mercenary.

Kasumi flapped a hand. “The muscle from the holiday resort we just left behind. They're going for the security station,” she said. “If they can shut down the defensive grid, they'll be able to land more shuttles.”

“OK. Where's that?” asked Miranda. “And how many do we have to deal with?”

“Upstairs, across the atrium,” Kasumi replied. “Jack's holding it, for now. Not sure how many there are. Enough.”

“What about Kelly?” Miranda asked.

“We got separated,” said Kasumi, looking serious for once. She sighted carefully and blew out a merc helmet. “No comms.”

“Bloody great,” said Miranda. “Alright. Cover me.”

Miranda stood and flung a field at the armchair one merc was hiding behind. It flipped out of the way. He was startled for long enough for Kasumi to knock him down with a burst from her machine gun. She moved to exploit the opening and occupied another mercenary with a well placed warp field. He retreated into the entryway.

As she was passing an ornamental sword, she plucked it off the wall and threw it haphazardly. She used a biotic field to accelerate it to deadly velocity. The heavy, but well-balanced weapon fell into alignment and poked all the way through the sofa that the final batarian mercenary was crouched behind.

She came around the sofa to find him trying desperately not to move, gripping the blade of the sword where it penetrated his neck with both hands to stabilise it. Blood flowed silently along the metal and made his grip treacherous.

Kasumi was keeping the one in the entryway covered with suppressing fire. Miranda took a pistol from the bleeding batarian just as he slumped down. It was a simple matter to stick a hand around the corner and plug the final merc at close range.

Silence reigned, interrupted only by a single shot as Kasumi disposed of one batarian who was only stunned. The stairs were clear, but the atrium was busy. Jack was holding court just inside the door to the security office. She was launching shockwaves to prevent the batarians from assembling a coherent strategy to flank her, peppering them with her shotgun to keep them on their toes, but she would run out of ammo and need to recharge eventually.

“She was pissed when I told her what she had to do to get her biotics back,” Kasumi whispered from their vantage point. They hadn't been noticed yet.

“Let me guess,” Miranda muttered, as she scanned the atrium. There was a batarian on the upper level keeping lookout, but otherwise they were focused on Jack. “You told her the more she drank, the quicker it would work.”

Kasumi pouted. “You're no fun,” she said. Then she brightened. “She still thinks she needs it daily. Don't spoil it for me, Miranda.”

“Any other ways up there?” Miranda asked, eyeing the balcony.

“I assume you can take care of this down here, if I deal with him?” Kasumi replied. Miranda nodded.

“Alright-y then,” said Kasumi. She flickered and disappeared as she engaged her cloak. Miranda watched the shimmer as she crossed the atrium and clambered up a column to the balcony. Kasumi reached over the railing and stabbed the batarian lookout through the throat with a long knife. He crumpled soundlessly. No-one below noticed.

Miranda stepped forward. “Oi! You lot!” she shouted during a momentary lull in the gunfire, her accent crisp and her voice commanding. The batarians turned to face her.

She threw a warp field down and dove sideways into cover as they brought their weapons to bear. Then Jack followed up with another shockwave. The combined detonation blew the leaves from the ornamental plants and knocked down several of the batarians who had been caught in the open.

Caught in the crossfire between Jack's shotgun and Miranda's borrowed pistol, with Kasumi taking potshots from the balcony, fewer than half of the batarians had the presence of mind to survive. Miranda and Jack made the atrium dance with flying debris, keeping their heads down while they picked the remaining mercenaries off one at a time.

The doors at the main entrance opened and two more batarians strode in. One carried a pistol in one hand, and had Kelly gripped firmly by the arm. She shambled along with him, hanging her head. A fresh bruise decorated the side of her face.

“Cease fire!” he called. His men obeyed, but Jack took the opportunity to unload her shotgun into someone's face anyway.

“Oops,” said Jack into the ensuing silence.

Miranda peered out of her cover behind a plant pot. “I'll make this easy for you,” she called. “Let her go or I'll pull your guts out through your mouth.”

“Woah,” commented Jack. “Nice.”

The batarians caught in the middle of the atrium were moving, creeping backwards to more defensible positions along the entry corridor. With the leader standing at the far end, Miranda and Jack wouldn't be able to risk firing on them for fear of hitting Kelly.

“I told them you were more trouble than you were worth, human,” said the batarian. “Surrender, or I will give this one to my men to enjoy.”

Miranda saw a shimmer moving across the upper level in the corner of her eye. “You misunderstand,” she called back. “That wasn't a threat.” Kasumi took down the guard behind the leader silently while still cloaked. “It was a promise.”

Kasumi cut the batarian leader's arm off with a superheated omni-blade. She grabbed Kelly and ducked out of the front door while he was staring at the stump in shock.

Miranda and Jack unleashed hell.


	11. Epilogue

“Everything in order. No cause for concern,” said Mordin. “Have reduced foetal metabolism. Normal development from now on.”

He finished passing his scanner over Kelly's bump. She opened her mouth to ask the question but nothing came out. Kasumi asked it for her.

“So what the hell did they knock her up with, doc?” she said. “C'mon, we're dying here.”

To accuse Mordin of pausing for dramatic effect deliberately would have been uncharitable, given the help he had provided. It had been his custom retrovirus that had caused Kasumi to express the counter-agent to the biotic suppressant in her breast milk. He knew there were a limited number of ways to repress biotic capabilities and he had engineered his virus to counter most of them, taking into account the fact that the batarians would want to provide as unsullied a product as they could to their market.

Granted, it was Kasumi who had assumed the risky part of the plan, getting herself captured and forced to lactate deliberately in order to effect their escape. In the end, the trickiest part had been getting either Jack or Miranda to drink her milk without letting their captors in on the secret. Thankfully Jack's juvenile need to humiliate Miranda had provided the perfect opportunity to fill her belly with Kasumi's milk.

“Clone,” said Mordin, having drawn out the moment long enough to satisfy his theatrical tendencies. “Forced growth. Despicable,” he added, sighing. “Unethical. Typically non-viable. Horrible trauma, stillbirth.”

Kelly breathed a sigh of relief. 

So that was it, Miranda thought. They had been going to clone them and sell the children to be eaten, making the women pump them out on an accelerated schedule. And when they found she couldn't provide, they were going to force Jack to carry her clones instead. She had decided not to tell Jack about her final interview with the batarian she had called Smokey. Miranda knew it would have broken her, to be further humiliated like that. Better that she never know the danger she had been in.

They'd broken out of their confinement just in time. Miranda had spent the journey asleep, taken down by the tranquilizer dart. The facility had indeed been a small one, hidden in the asteroid belt of the Boltzmann system. They were close to their primary market, drawn from the venal, rich oligarchs who ran the colony on Bekenstein. Deliveries of their fresh milk were made daily by shuttle.

Their jailers were the full permanent complement of the facility, so Kasumi and the others had taken a shuttle with ease. Unfortunately it had been tracked by the delivery crew, who were inbound for a pickup, and had followed them down. They'd barely had time to lay her out on the bed before they were attacked. As to why she had woken up attached to Kasumi's little milking machine... she'd let that slide. They'd been through a lot. A little more of Kasumi's weirdness hadn't killed her.

Kelly looked shyly at Kasumi. “Can I stay here for a while?” she asked.

“Sure thing, red,” Kasumi replied warmly. “It'll be nice to have someone to come home to.”

“This place is a real villain's lair,” said Miranda. “I didn't think this was really your style, Kasumi.”

“I thought I might try it for a while,” she said. “The previous owner... had an accident.” She grinned at them. “A Shepard kind of accident.”

“This is Donovan Hock's place?” Miranda asked, putting two and two together. “You stole it?”

“Hey, galaxy's greatest thief, remember?”

“My job, done,” said Mordin, packing up his kit. “Will see myself out. Ladies, taper milk production to return to normal. Also, Jack, more vegetables, less fried food.”

“Yeah, stick it up your ass, doc,” she said in a good-natured voice. “So that's it? Huh. What now, cheerleader?”

“Well,” said Kasumi, replying before Miranda could open her mouth, “I did manage to nab their client list on our way out. Maybe we could make some house calls.”

“Maybe later,” said Miranda. “Right now I need to find a bedroom that isn't shot to hell.” She grabbed Jack by the arm and pulled. “See you two later,” she said to Kasumi and Kelly.

“God, I love it when you act all macho,” Jack said as Miranda dragged her away. “It's so much better when I get you on your knees.”

Kelly looked at Kasumi and went to hold her. “It's really over,” she said, a note of wonder in her voice. “I wasn't sure... I thought maybe this was just a dream. And we were still in that room. Thank you for coming for us.”

“Hey, red, don't cry,” said Kasumi as she wrapped her arms around Kelly's shoulders. “You would have done the same for me.”

They held each other for a while, taking comfort in the simple warmth of each others bodies.

“I was thinking...” Kelly said after a few minutes. “I want to breastfeed my baby, when she comes, so...”

“You want to stay like this, until then,” said Kasumi, understanding what she meant. If she didn't keep expressing milk, her supply would dry up. “You want me to help pump you?”

Kelly bit her lip and looked at Kasumi with downcast eyes, her cheeks a little flushed. She nodded. “Could you... could you make it hurt a little?”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Milk, Whiskey, and Towels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186777) by [RunnerFive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunnerFive/pseuds/RunnerFive)




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